


Yes, Sir

by Fandoms_Are_Life37



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America's Got A Dirty Sub Secret, Anal Sex, As Handcuffs, BDSM, Belts, Blood Kink, Bondage, Consensual, Consensual Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, England Finds Out, Gay Sex, Inanimate Objects, Inspired by a Tik Tok or Five I Saw, It's Mentioned Once, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Masochism, Mild Blood, Nude Photos, One Shot, Photography, Pictures, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, S&M, Sex, Smut, Spit As Lube, Table Sex, Used in Inappropriate Ways, consent is my kink, it's smut ok, it's very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26149249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandoms_Are_Life37/pseuds/Fandoms_Are_Life37
Summary: England finds out (accidentally) that America's got a secret submissive side when he triggers it.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	Yes, Sir

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Sexual content, language 
> 
> Inspired by dannyphantom.exe on Tik Tok’s ‘English gentlemen’ videos
> 
> Estimated read time: Eight minutes

England rifled through his pockets for his keys. It had been a long day on Downing Street full of tedious work and yelling at interns to the point that his voice hurt, meaning he was irritated. The only thing that kept him moving was the fact that he knew he would snap out of it with a good hot cup of tea. 

Selecting the proper key, he slipped it into the lock and entered his flat (or as America would call it, apartment). America, right. In the stress of his work, he’d forgotten that his boyfriend had flown in from D.C. to visit him earlier in the week. He’d surely be as rambunctious as ever, adding to England’s headache. 

Speaking of the devil, he skidded around the corner and grinned. “Hey, Iggy!” 

England sighed. His suspicions were confirmed. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Okay, Iggy. Hey, the coolest thing happened today! So I was taking a call from my boss, and he was like, ‘America, quit telling people to vote against me in November,’" America said in a flawless impersonation of his president, “And I was like, ‘Ha, dude, you’re crazy, I hate you!’ so then he was like, ‘That’s very unfair, I feel insulted, you’ve insulted me,’ and so I said, ‘Good, loser! And by the way, don’t expect me back on Capitol Hill on Monday because I’m going to stay in London longer just to annoy you! Eat it!’” 

If he were in a better mood, the news would have made England’s day brighter. It was all too uncommon for him to get to spend time with America in person. But today, his bubbly voice was grating England’s nerves. 

“That’s nice, America,” England said, shoving his keys in his pocket and going to the kitchen. He set his briefcase down on the table and went to the cupboard to get the kettle. The sooner he was sipping earl grey, the better. 

“You don’t sound very excited,” America pouted, following him and hopping onto the counter. 

He took a steadying breath as the water heated up. “It was a long day at work.” 

“Oh. Parliament won’t relent? Hey, that rhymed!” He burst into a fit of laugher and fell off the counter, still cackling. God, it wasn’t even that funny. 

England grit his teeth. “Something like that.” 

“Boy, that was funny,” America said through sporadic, singular laughs. “Don’t worry about it; I get it. Congress is the same way. But, hey, that’s democracy!” 

“Representative democracy.” 

“Meh, same thing,” He said, waving it off and standing up to watch England make his tea and try to keep his temper in check. He knew America’s feelings got hurt when he yelled at him, plus his throat hurt from screaming at incompetent people all day. 

The Brit frowned. “No, actually, it’s not, but okay.” 

“You sure are in a bad mood!” 

“You’re not helping.” 

“Ah, you know you love me!” 

“That doesn’t mean you’re not annoying me. Move out of the way, would you? The kettle’s done.” 

America wrinkled his nose. “How do you drink that stuff. It’s so gross.” 

“And I think coffee is gross, but I don’t give you lip over it,” England shot back, preparing his cup. “Know why?” 

“Because you secretly like it?” 

He gave a withering glare. “No, because I’m polite. I’m a gentleman, so I don’t belittle you over your caffeinated beverages. If only you’d return the favour.” 

“Whatever you say, Iggy.” 

“Don’t-” He stopped, realising that his efforts were pointless. Instead, he took his cup and went to the table, sitting down and sipping it. Its temperature was still far too hot, but he didn’t care- anything to soothe his throat and take the edge off. 

America slid into the chair across from him, folding his hands on the table and resting his chin on them to make him eye-level with the teacup. “Hey…” 

“What?” 

“I was thinking… what if we got a pet?” 

England raised a brow. “We don’t live together. Why would we get an animal?” 

“Because we could get a golden retriever puppy! And we could name it Max or Bella, depending on if it’s a boy puppy or a girl puppy! And we could play fetch!” 

“I’m not letting any animals in my flat,” England said in a tone as bitter as the tea he drank. “They’ll get fur on everything.” 

“What about a goldfish? They don’t have fur.” 

“No.” 

“Hamster?” 

“No.” 

“Parrot?” 

“No.” 

“I thought you used to be a pirate! How do you not want a parrot?” America joked, smacking England’s arm lightly and making some of the tea dribble over the rim. 

England scowled. “No! I already have a golden retriever.” 

America’s eyes widened, and he sat up. “No way! Really? Where? What’s its name? Can I pet it? Please, Iggy? Where is it?” 

“It’s you, America.” 

His face fell, and he slumped down, chin on his arm. Then, from under England’s teacup, he swiped the saucer, pulling the drink over to his side of the table and grinning up at his boyfriend. 

“What are you doing?” England said, officially done with America’s game. Yet, despite the tension buzzing in the air and England’s vague sense that he was creeping toward snapping, America remained oblivious, just as smiley as ever. 

“Taking your tea! For lying to me about having a dog.” 

“America, give it back,” England said, raising his voice, but he also felt himself creeping toward it cracking. That’s what idiot interns get you. 

“No!” America said playfully. 

If it hadn’t been part of an expensive tea set, England would have swiped it back, but that ran the risk of breaking it. Yelling was out of the question, too, so convincing him was all that was left. 

“Sweetheart, hand it over. I’m really not in the mood for this.” 

“No!” America said, practically giggling and still not reading the atmosphere that was almost buzzing. “Never!” 

Abruptly, England stood up, throwing his chair to the ground and planting one of his hands on the table. The other seized America’s chin and forced him to look at him. His eyes burned as he stared into America’s and snarled, “Darling, I don’t think you heard me correctly. Give it back... or suffer the consequences.” 

America stared back at him with wide eyes. Hesitantly, he replied, “Um… n- no...”

“No? Then let me very, very clear,” He hissed, leaning closer. America shrunk in his seat, and England could have sworn he heard his breath hitch. “You are my former colony,and even if, lawfully, I have no power over you, I can assure you that I still have plenty of ways to make you do as I say, as well as ways to punish you if you do not. Now, give me back my tea, or I swear to you that you will deeply, deeply regret it.” 

The kitchen went dead silent as the two stared at each other. England never once relented and only considered backing down when he saw that America’s hands had moved from the table to gripping his chair’s seat so hard that his knuckles were going white. 

However, America was the first to break when he blinked and squeaked, “Yes, England,” while pushing the teacup back across the table, it seemed like he wasn’t trying to be defiant with his moments of inaction, but rather that he had been frozen. 

England waited a moment to let his message sink in before straightening and sitting back down in his seat, calmly taking a tea drink. 

He frowned. “It’s cold, thanks to your shenanigans. Make me a new one.” 

Without a single word of protest, American jumped out of his seat and rushed back to the kettle, preparing to brew a second cup. England observed him, taking note of his shaking hands and tense body. 

Shit. Had he frightened him that bad? He was pretty sure America was going to laugh and not listen when he threatened him. But, come to think of it, he’d only ever raised his voice with America, never lowered it to the same dark murmur that he used when he was scaring enemy countries back into their places. 

That couldn’t be right. America was, well, America, the hero, unafraid of anything. He, an island nation the size of Michigan, couldn’t possibly have rattled him so bad that he was actually obeying. 

Yet, his behaviour said otherwise. And England was never one to turn down some good North American exploration, be it on the shoulders of Jamestown settlers or his own, testing the tone again. 

“America?” 

His boyfriend turned around. “Yes, England?” 

There he went again. No silly nicknames, just England. “Go to the bedroom and bring me the book on my nightstand.” 

America nodded and scurried off down the hall, leaving England baffled. What the hell? Since when did independent, headstrong America do anything he asked? 

He returned in record time, setting the book down on the table beside the cold cup of tea and picking it up to pour it out. It was at this time that he noticed that America wasn’t making eye contact, and his cheeks were flushed.

Intrigued, England continued with the same demeanour, grabbing his wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

The American stopped, going rigid. “O- Oh. I, um, I was going to get rid of it. You said it was cold, so I thought I’d get it out of your way… and, uh, that was my bad.” He set it back down, retreating to the stove to tend to the whistling kettle. 

“Hurry up.” 

“Yes, England,” He answered, bringing back the fresh tea and sitting down across from him, hands under his thighs as he continued to avoid looking at England’s face. His voice still sounded a little nervous when he said, “Ha, well, there you go. A nice fresh cup of tea.” 

“Okay,” England said, dropping the act. “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

This time, he read the room and blinked back, no longer as skittish. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, since when do you listen to a word I say. Since when is it ‘Yes, England’? Since when do you not ask questions when told to do something.” 

America shrugged, cheeks turning pink again. “I don’t know.” 

“Bullshit. What is it?” 

“Nothing! I don’t know!” 

Decided to test the waters again, England set his cup aside and stared at his boyfriend coldly, growling, “America, I asked you a question.” 

His head snapped back to look at England again, and he swallowed visibly. “I- I just, um, you talked to me like that and I just- I don’t know, uh, did what you said. Didn’t want to be disobedient.” 

“You mean when I talk to you like this?” He asked lowly, beginning to understand. 

America could only nod. 

England chuckled and got up, going over to America’s chair and yanking it out so that he could place a hand on each armrest, trapping him as he leaned against the back of it, inching away. 

“I see,” England mused quietly, the faintest smirk dancing on his lips. 

“W- What?” 

“Why you listened. You’re a little closeted sub, aren’t you?” He asked, fisting America’s hair to make him face him. In all sexual encounters before, America had topped. Which was fine, but England would be lying if he said he hadn’t fantasised about America completely submitting to him instead. He just never dreamed that it’d come true.

There was no mistaking the lust in America’s eyes now. His pupils were dilated, his breathing was shaky, and the blush had crept from his cheeks to his ears. Faintly, England 

heard him say, “Maybe…” 

Well, there was more than one way to cure a headache, and England was more than happy to order America to unbutton his shirt- almost as happy as America was to comply. His fingers fumbled with each clasp until it hung open. England expected that he would shed it, too, as America was always eager, but he stopped, awaiting instructions. 

“Lay down on the table,” England commanded. 

America moved the teacup to the counter so that it wouldn’t break and hopped up onto the ledge. He paused for a moment, looking nervous, but one look from England had him laying on his back, legs slightly parted and hands on either side of his head, perfect for pinning down. 

And pin England did. He grabbed them tight enough to hurt and pressed them against the wood, leering over America and examining his debauched state. Shifting his hands to rest above his head so that he could pin them with one hand, England undid his belt before binding America’s hands together and demanding that he keep them there. 

Then, he was shucking America’s trousers and his own shirt. Part of him wanted to toss the clothes aside and fuck America silly, but another part wanted to take his time, forcing America to wait. England chose the latter, folding his clothes neatly on the chair but letting America’s fall to the floor. 

“Hmm. You look good like that, sweetheart.” England commented. “If only I could have a souvenir.” 

And then the idea came to him. He could have a souvenir. The look on America’s face said that he knew it, too, but there was no hint of hesitation. 

“What do you say, Alfie?” England cooed, an edge in his tone. “Shall we take some pictures?” 

“Yes, England,” America replied. 

“Yes, sir,” He corrected. 

“Yes, sir.” 

With the confirmation, England took out his phone and typed in his password- 1946- before opening his camera app. A smirk spread across his face as he angled it at his boyfriend and snapped the photo. He tapped it to examine it, determining that it was good. 

“You’re very photogenic, love,” he remarked, setting the phone down on the table beside them. There was no way he was done using it. But first, he needed to be sure his model was in a position that was a little dirtier. 

England removed America’s boxers in one fell swoop, kicking them over by the oven before spreading his legs and getting the phone to take a couple of pictures of the view, one capturing all of America’s flushed, submissive state and another focused on his face. 

Now, for some props. England quickly took the items he wanted from the kitchen, unwilling to get their actual sex toys from upstairs. First, he took some clothespins used to seal chip bags so that they didn’t get stale. Then, he was taking a silicone spoon used for stirring food in boiling water and some saran wrap. 

“America?” He asked, flashing all three of the items, “Which one do you want first?” 

His boyfriend practically drooled as he answered, “The clothespins.” 

“Great,” England said, setting those and the spoon down on the table between America’s legs. He ripped off a good chunk of saran wrap and fashioned it into a gag, restricting America’s ability to speak and watching with delight as America realised that he didn’t use the pins first. That was okay, though, America was glad to give up control. 

Next, England tied the wrap around America’s ankles, wrapping the other end around the table’s legs. The amount of wrap between his feet and the legs of the table was small, so America was close to the edge, toes over the ledge, meaning that he couldn’t support himself as well. He’d just have to rely on England not to let him slip once they started moving. 

Taking mercy on his enthusiastic captive, England pinched his right nipple, letting the pin snap closed over it. America flinched and made a pleased whining sound. He chuckled as he clipped the second one and twisted it. 

America keened, wiggling from the cruel treatment his nipples received until England bit out, “Hold still.” 

The sub stopped, and England watched in amusement when America’s muscles twitched from the urge to move when he twisted the other one. It seemed that his hero of a boyfriend was a secret masochist. 

Now, it was time for the fun part. England pulled down the saran wrap gag and jabbed three fingers into America’s mouth, spitting, “Suck.” 

He did so, keeping his teeth away and twisting his tongue between the digits, coating them liberally with saliva. England withdrew them, replacing the gag and put one finger against his hole, circling it for a moment before pushing in. And, damn, he was tight. This may take more stretching that England planned. 

It didn’t matter, that only meant that he’d adjust his scheme. Instead of inserting the spoon by the bowl, he’d just put in the long handle. It was much skinnier, and, really, the only reason he was putting an inanimate object inside of America was so that he could get a picture of him with something inside him. 

After he successfully took two fingers, England took the spoon and lined up its handle. He briefly considered having America lick it up and down, but he was too impatient, so he crammed it in. 

America yelped in what England at first worried was pain, but he looked very satisfied, so he determined that it was pleasure and drove it in deeper. The handle just kept disappearing into his greedy hole, swallowing it up like it needed it to survive, and England was beyond turned on at the display. Finally, the handle wouldn’t go any further, so England snatching his cellphone, getting a picture of America’s whole body before taking one of just his lower half and the object protruding from his ass. 

Satisfied with his shots, England ripped the spoon back out, causing America to cry out again, but then he was spitting in his hand. At the noise, he regained America’s attention, causing the western nation to moan in anticipation. 

Technically, prepping him more would have been the least painful thing to do, but America had proven to be quite the little painslut, so England just shoved right in, pausing for just a moment to savour the look on his bottom’s face before drawing back and snapping his hips forward again. 

His cock worked in and out of America’s ass, pounding relentlessly. Both countries’ eyes screwed shut in pleasure, and England found himself biting down on America’s neck. A bit of blood burst forth from the wound, but England lapped it up, kissing the spot he’d abused in apology, though America didn’t seem to mind at all. 

The table creaked, and for a moment, England wondered if it was going to break. Still, it held steady, supporting their dirty interaction until America came all over his stomach and England released inside him. 

Slowly, England pulled out to admire the ravished nation spread on his kitchen table. He grinned as he took a couple more pictures of America’s bleary eyes, marked neck, and splattered stomach. Of course, he got one full shot, but his favourite was the one where he zoomed in on America’s hole that was leaking with England’s come. It dripped and drizzled onto the wooden table below, positively sinful. 

Perhaps England would get his photographs developed. Then maybe, just maybe, he could keep them under his mattress for a lonely night when America was back in DC.


End file.
